Life was hell.

  If there were gods, they hated him with vengeance.

  He remembered playing and laughing heartily in his younger years. But by the time he was in middle school, the disease had progressed enough for him to barely walk. A genetic disease, they called it, that weakens muscles with time.

  By the time he was 15, he couldn't even manage to walk ten steps from his bed to the toilet. He had resigned to his fate, but what hurt most was the cruelty of good memories. Would it hurt less dying without ever knowing what strength felt like?

  He would never know. But he believed it would.

  All he could do all day, every day, was use his phone, listen to music, and read books. So, no wonder he had become a huge story nerd. Fantasy was his poison. He loved reading these magical stories of knights and honor, monsters and heroes, courage and betrayal. More than reading, he completely immersed himself in the lore.

  His favourite pastimes were reading and watching people's theories and opinions about his favourite fantasy story universe. The Song of Ice and Fire, The Cosmere Universe, and The Wheel of Time were a few on which he spent most of his time.

  Only joy in a life full of pain.

  Every breath he took felt owed. His parents were not wealthy; the medical bills were a burden he did not want to leave behind as his only legacy. He was not proud of it, but one day he got the chance and did what needed to be done.

  There was no cure for his illness. And he had lived enough. Everything was painful, even breathing.

  This was his mercy to himself.

  The pain subsided, and sweet darkness embraced him, the great absorber of all.

  °°°

  294 AC, Fenbarrow Village.

  But that was not the end of it. When his eyes opened again, he found himself staring at the vast blue sky above. His back felt cold, and when a breeze passed by, he almost shivered. But the pain.. the pain was finally gone.

  He pushed up and lifted his upper body, then crossed his legs. Surprised that he could even do this much. But he felt strong, much stronger. His arms and legs held power that he had never felt before.

  He stared at his hands, then his legs, and then everything around him. Some meters away, a solitary tree stood tall on a hill. He was outside a small village in a land covered in green. But it was cold, really cold. The rags he was wearing clearly were not enough.

  It was a dream. Yes, that's what Orston will call it. Everything was a dream. But it was so clear. Too long. No! I am here. I was..

  How could a person have two memories of his childhood? How could someone have multiple mothers? Two separate bodies? Two separate lives?

  Why now? After 10 years as Orston of Fenbarrow, he suddenly had memories of another life now? A life in which he died.

  A life in which.. westeros was just a story in books.

  Orston felt like he was losing his mind. With a solid savage jump, he got up and ran straight towards the village. His own memories of mother and village felt so distant now. He had to see for himself if they were real or not.

  Thankfully, they were.

  But by the time Orston reached his small house, his mind had regained clarity. Yes, he was Orston. But he was also another person, whose name he could not remember, no matter how hard he tried. But everything else he remembered with detailed clarity. Truth be told, he was more this other person than he was Orston now.

  I was sick and died. And somehow entered the world of Song of Ice and Fire?

  "What are you doing there, boy? Come fast, your mother needs you." An aged woman shouted from inside his house while glancing at him in passing.

  Old Gran. The Midwife.

  His house was full of villagers. Then the memory of why this boy was lying beneath the tree surfaced in his mind. Because the Old Gran had told him his mother was going to die, and there was nothing they could do to save her other than try to ease her pain. The boy, Orston, just could not handle it and ran off, his eyes full of tears. The whole village had blurred from his vision.

  Then.. he did not remember what happened afterwards. The very next memory was of him waking up as someone else.

  "Ors.. Ughm.. ORS.."

  His mother's weak voice hurt his boy heart as he stepped inside the old, broken house.

  The villagers parted, giving him a straight path to his mother's straw bed. Hesitatingly, Orston grabbed his mother's hand and sat beside her. He was more than Orston the boy now, but that detail seemed unnecessary before a dying woman's tears.

  He could feel his own cheeks wet with uncontrollable tears. Memories make a person. He had all the memories of this admirable, comely woman who worked herself to an early grave trying to give him a decent life.

  After a moment, Orston realized his mother was not just holding his hand, but shoving something into his hands. He freed the palm and saw a pitch-black ring; it was hard and smooth, warm to the touch, and shone like a diamond in the light. Too big for any normal person, with a bold mini-stag carved in the middle beside a three-headed dragon, reflecting the light from the broken roof of the house.

  "Rob.." She said, "Robert.. is your true father. Barratheo... King."

  The whole crowd gasped at that. The ring was visible to all. And the words, too, were easy to hear.

  Orston barely heard it, though, over his own crying. The woman's entire strength had been used to say those few words out loud. As if relieved of the burden, she stopped breathing, and her eyes lost the light of life.

  The intense emotions in his heart he could not control greatly, but his thoughts were his own. His thoughts raced while the young boy mourned his mother's death. I am Robert Barratheon's bastard?

  One memory revealed that his mother's family was originally from Riverlands. His great-grandfather from his mother's side was even a minor knight once. His mother had told stories of it all his life. The battles he had fought against Brackens and others in the Riverlands.

  Orston Snow. There was no such character in Song of Ice and Fire. But Robert had many bastards, they say. Most of whom were later killed by Cercie Lanister.

  What time period was this?

  In his little life memories, spanning a little over half a decade, Orston found mentions of the Grayjoy rebellion and its end. That happened around 289 AC. A few years from that means somewhere around 292-293 AC. Five years before the starting events of Book 1, The Game of Thrones.

  Orston was confused for the rest of the day. Some hours later, the villagers helped him bury his mother beneath a robust tree where Fenbarrow's dead went. The Old Gran took him to her home and gave him food and company.

  The older men of the village came to him all evening, and they even sat around the fire at night. Orston had more or less recovered. The grief remained still, but he could finally think clearly. The men who had come to talk to him offered him jobs and advice about what he should do next.

  Few said to go to King's Landing and show the proof to the king. Some suggested against it. Some said, 'Forget all the noble farce, Fenbarrow folk ought to live in Fenbarrow.' Then some said, 'Life at Storm's End as Robert's bastard will be far better than the life of an orphan.'

  After a long time, finally, Orston had strength again. He was only ten or eleven but already bigger than most boys his age. Broad through the shoulders and thick at the wrists.

  The short childhood memories revealed that everyone treated him more nicely than they would a fatherless, poor boy. Part of it was his height. At eleven, already pushing five foot eight, he stood nearly level with some grown women and taller than many older boys. That alone made villagers think twice before speaking harshly. The rest was how he looked. He had clear, fair skin, dark, thick hair that never quite stayed in place, and steady blue eyes that met a person’s gaze without flinching.

  His features were still young but balanced and easy on the eye: straight nose, even mouth, nothing sharp or dramatic about him. But he had memories of many a woman glancing towards him more often than they should.

  After a lifetime of weakness, Orston was truly happy to be blessed with such a robust body. Even if he was in Westeros, a place more dangerous than medieval Earth. There, at least, the dragons and ice zombies did not exist. Being a nerd of the story and living in this hardcore world were two completely separate things. Still, if there are gods, they did give me my one wish. For that, I should be grateful.

  A life in the westeros won't be an easy one, but compared to his frail, bedridden one, this was far better.

  The Old Gran shared her fire with him and gave him thin furs to sleep on. But the cold floor was anything but comfortable. Anyway, his mind was too occupied to fall asleep. The whole village knows my secret. That's not good.

  If it were a secret, he would still have options. But this village was near Barrowton. If the word spreads, Lady Barbery Dustin will not let him live peacefully. Not that Orston wanted to live peacefully. In the world of Westeros, where danger loomed everywhere, if he did not learn how to fight, he was as good as dead.

  Lady Dustin did not appear much in the books. She wasn't exactly a bad one, but he just wasn't sure about her and Barrow Hall as a place. She did declare for Bolton's later and had barely sent any men when Rob Stark marched south. She held some grudge against Ned Stark after losing her husband in Robert's Rebellion.

  No. He must leave.

  Living in the village makes no sense. He can't travel far being a kid. Neither does he have money, nor can he protect himself from animals and brigands. But Torrhen's Square is not too far from here. From there, Winterfell should be a good enough path.

  It was peace time and stark territory, so he shouldn't encounter anything too rough. But he would have to walk all the way there.

  From his broken house, Orston had found 17 copper coins and 1 silver stag. Hopefully, that is enough. They also had an old fur cloak; at times, he and his mother slept together wrapped in it. That should do for the journey.

  Orston knew it was a risk. But only Winterfell made sense. The northern lords were relatively good people, but being a king's bastard, he would never be safe anywhere. Not to mention, when the war of the five kings starts, the chaos will make his presence dangerous for anyone. Only Eddard Stark, if he accepts him, can give him shelter and keep him safe for a while. Even if word spreads somehow, Winterfell should be the safest place to be in the north.

  Catelyn can be a problem, but with the proof of his blood, Ned shouldn't send him away just about anywhere. Even if he does, there is a possibility he will be given some money or something, or the possibility of being sent to one of Stark's bannermen's houses.

  If you come across this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.

  With his decision made, Orton put his mind at rest.

  The next morning, he ate whatever Old Gran gave him and told her he was leaving. When he offered to buy her old axe for a few coppers, she lectured him for minutes about the folly of youth, but in the end, she handed him the axe without a single copper in exchange.

  When she asked where he was going, he replied, "Barrow Hall. Best I go myself, they will come for me sooner or later anyway."

  She had nodded with simple, "Clever lad. Be on your way then. Come back to me if you change ya' mind. Serie was like a third daughter of mine that I never had."

  He knew how good the relationship was between his mother and Old Gran. Orston thanked her for everything, grabbed the axe, a little bundle of food she gave, and a fur cloak, and started walking. Answering the same thing whenever asked by anyone on the way.

  It wasn't a lie. He planned to go to Barrow Hall, but not to see Lady Dustin. He will continue north till he reaches his real destination.

  Walking. He had underestimated how this simple thing might not be as simple as they describe in the books. The sun had set by the time he reached Burrow Town. Stone houses. Mud streets. Barrow mounds outside town — ancient First Men graves, according to books. Orston expected people to act roughly, as northerners were described, but the few people he met on the dirt path smiled at him as they passed and even chatted a little.

  Orston chose an inn in the small town and asked the innkeeper if he could sleep in the stables for the night. The plus-sized lady stared at his muddy clothes for a while, but ultimately replied with,

  "A copper. And you better stay away from ma' kitchen,"

  Renting a room was too costly. He only had one silver, which wouldn't be enough for even one night. Orston ate what little was left of Old Gran's gift and tried his best to fall asleep. The stable smelled like horse dung, fleas buzzing around, and horses making noises at times. But he forced himself to sleep.

  The next morning, Orston washed his face from the well water and got to work. First, he searched for a merchant selling a water skin. After much haggling, the man finally gave it up in 8 copper pennies. Then Orston ate a salted fish for breakfast and filled his little sack with as much long-lasting food as he could buy with 20 copper pennies.

  In the end, when he started his journey north to Torhhen's Square, only 42 copper pennies had remained on him. He asked around, and people said the Square was at least two weeks' walk away. So he bought enough food for that. Hard bread, salted fish, cheese, etc.

  When the first night arrived after a day-long walk through green lands and muddy roads, Orston realized something very crucial. He didn't know how to light a fire!

  Fortunately, the occasional farms and small houses were still visible at this distance, and he could take shelter in a barn. But he wasn't so fortunate every night. Some nights, he had to sleep under the stars with only his cloak to keep him warm. It was cold, bone-chilling cold.

  A few more days, and Orston had somewhat accepted his situation and gotten used to sleeping in the weirdest places and on hard, cold ground. His body was much more resilient than he gave it credit for. His mind still thought like an Earth boy, but the people of Westeros were tougher and more suitable for living in this world.

  The only fear he had was of stray animals. The nights were filled with weird noises. His axe remained in his hands as he slept. Other than scaring away some dogs he saw one evening, nothing had come across his path yet.

  When Torhhen's Square neared, the dwindling farm lands and barns started appearing again, and Orston thanked the gods for it. His nose no longer complained about the smell of sheep and dung. The straw and hay somehow became more comfortable than ever.

  The hold had thirty-foot-high stone walls with square towers at each corner. Much larger than he had imagined in his mind. The seat belongs to House Tallhart.

  Orston had half a mind to go to Tallhart and reveal himself; he was just that tired. But he knew nothing good could come of it, so he endured. Unlike Barrow Hall, he did not see any godswood here; other than that, it was mostly the same, just smaller. He was a stranger and had no desire to remain among people who looked at him with suspicion, so after a day's rest in another stable, he was on his way.

  Once again, 25 copper pennies had cost him the food supplies. The water was easy to get from the villages.

  However, three days into his travel to Cerwyn, the stop before Winterfell, Orston noticed something odd. Every night when he stopped to rest, he could see a distant fire burning behind him. Every night, it came closer and closer.

  On day six, Orston could see a distant rider slowly following behind him. Many a horse rider had ridden past him these past few weeks, but none spared him a single glance. Tallhart, Cerwyn, and even Stark men.

  Orston usually tried to hide behind hills or stones when he noticed the riders, but not always. But this one rider was deliberately going too slow and was always in his line of sight.

  Who could it be? And why was he travelling so slowly despite being on a horse? Was he following him?

  The suspicion grew, and finally, on day nine, Orston passed a high hill and then ran straight towards the Wolfswood. Passing a few trees, he hid behind a strong-looking one and kept an eye on the road. The rider took his time. But it was much faster than his usual speed. When it arrived, Orston noted the rider had no sigil belonging to any house. The man's face looked cruel and impatient.

  Just as most northmen did, the rider wore a wool cloak over a mail shirt and a padded gambeson. He was clearly looking around. Trying to find him. It was confirmed now.

  The rider stopped after a minute, staring at the ground, and turned his horse to the side.

  Footsteps! Fuck!

  Orston tightened the grip on his axe and waited for the man to come near him patiently. Whatever the man wanted from him, Orston would not travel back without meeting Lord Stark first. The rider moved in his direction. Orston pulled his head back, relying only on the sounds.

  "Come out now, kid! I won't harm you." The rider cried, "It will be over in a moment, I promise you. You just need to stay there and take it."

  Orston said nothing and waited. After a moment, the sound of the hooves paused. He waited for several minutes before daring to take a look.

  But the moment he did so, an arrow came piercing the air and buried right in the tree, inches from where his head was. His reflexes saved him for the moment, but his position was revealed. Why the fuck does he want to kill me!?

  The man was walking ever so slowly towards him. Orston could hear the faint footsteps.

  "Lord Stark knows I am coming; you won't get away with this!" Orston said loudly.

  A sound of mocking laughter filled the forest. "Lord Stark has no time to go looking for small beggars. Even one as pretty as you."

  That was a weird line to say.

  But Orston emptied his mind and focused on the sound of the footsteps approaching. The grip on the axe was so tight it throbbed slightly. Probably not the most efficient of ways to hold it.

  From the side of his eyes, Orston caught a flap of fur and put all he had in the swing on the right side of the tree. But it hit nothing. In the next second, he felt hands choking him. What a weird way to kill him.

  But Orston's eyes widened in shock when the large man pushed his face against the tree with one hand, and his other hand started exploring his backside. For a moment, he thought the stranger was looking for money, but he was proven right. The worst was right. The man was after.. him.

  Orston struggled frantically. His large size was indeed making it hard for the man to keep hold, but he was only ten years old. Bigger than his peers, he was still a kid. The man was large and powerful.

  Orston felt the man struggling with his clothes and fondling things. The disgust in his mind was beyond words. The axe had slipped from his hands by the man's forceful, sudden attack. Fortunately or unfortunately, the man tried to turn him around, and Orston grabbed the chance to throw the bark his hands had torn off the tree.

  The man shouted, closing his eyes, still holding his arm and neck just as strong. But the moment of distraction was enough for Orston to knee the motherfucker in his balls. The man's cries echoed loudly in the whole forest.

  Free of the hold, Orston grabbed his axe and attacked straight at the man's neck, but his arm came in between, and blood sprayed from his biceps onto his face, forcing Orston to close his eyes for a moment. Still, he did not lighten his grip on the axe and swung it again and again blindly.

  He felt a sting on his left cheek as something hard hit him. Only a second later, Orston realized he had been punched. He lost his balance and fell down, hitting his head on the tree trunk. The fall and hit shook his head from deep within.

  The man was trying to free something from his belt. Orston saw through the shaking vision. Before he could succeed, Orston grabbed the stone that his hand felt while falling down and slammed it into the head of the stranger. It was a staggering blow. His arm had found some hidden strength from within that even he didn't know about.

  Orston took advantage of the success and grabbed his axe, half-standing. But suddenly, a piercing, pulsating hot pain radiated in his body, originating from his side. He looked down. It was wet with blood.

  Knife.

  The man released him. Orston staggered on weak legs while turning back with disbelief on his face.

  The man smiled with his crooked, yellow teeth. It looked pure evil.

  RAGE!

  Orston heard a voice deep within him as he fell on one knee.

  RAGE! RAGE! RAGE!

  It said.

  Orston looked up at the towering man and gritted his teeth. Rage indeed. If I die, so be it, but this pedo will not live!

  "RAGE!!" he shouted.

  Suddenly, Orston felt a warm strength coursing through his veins. He had no idea how, but it felt right. It felt like justice. He pushed his knee against the ground and almost jumped up. His arms were giving everything they had into the tightly clenched axe. The force behind the swing was greater than he thought possible by any eleven-year-old.

  The axe connected, and this time, no hand came in between. Blood sprayed everywhere as Orston fell atop the headless stranger. His vision blurred beyond control. The moment had passed and had left him with nothing but a weakness of ages.

  Both stumbled on the ground. Only Orston was still breathing when he passed out. Still bleeding and hard of breath, but breath of life it was. I won.

  With a smile on his face, Orston accepted the darkness.

  Orston did not hope to wake up. But he did. It felt odd.

  His eyes weren't fully open, but it was awfully dark and cramped. Did someone bury me in the forest or what?

  But when he opened his eyes, suddenly the cramped space was filled with blood-red light. Orston blinked, and each time the light vanished and reappeared. Only after the fourth time did he realize his eyes were the source of the red light. Without him, looking, everything was pitch dark.

  Orston felt as if thousands of hands were gripping his body all over, hindering even the slightest movement. With an effort, he managed to look down and found nothing but abyssal darkness shaped like a man. Only his chest and the part above were visible and connected to the darkness below.

  He only had one arm; the other was swallowed by darkness as well. Even his eye-lights could not pierce through it.

  The cramped space he was stuck in was milky white and patterned in a very wood-like finish. A hollow pillar of sorts. Orston could see neither high above nor low below. Only the front.

  He was left alone in the suffocating silence for a long time. With nothing else to do, Orston continued his tiring efforts to move himself and finally managed to touch the milky white wooden surface of the pillar before his face.

  As if come alive, the wood reacted to his touch, revealing strange engravings that carved themselves into the white surface on their own.

  °°°

  Orston Snow

  ? x 1

  ???? (1?)

  ????? (10?)

  ????? (50?)

  °°°

  What the hell are these? Am I dead or not? Alas, the answer was not so simple. Staring mindlessly at the weird symbols and his bastard name, he concluded his life on Planetos was not over yet.

  He could touch the first heart symbol; it felt warm. But the other symbols besides the spirals looked faded and felt wooden, the same as the white, uneven surface they were carved on. After trying everything he could with the little movement of his one hand, Orston finally tried to push the heart, and to his shock, it moved.

  He could not separate it from the wood or push it deep, but he could drag it around anyway he wanted. Since it had a number, he tried to overlap it with the other symbols with numbers. When he placed it above the last two lines of symbols, the 10 became 9, and the 50 became 49. The black ? x 1 glowed blood red, a wave of energy rippling outward from its very center.

  Interesting.

  When Orston placed it on the first line that only had one in the bracket, the rippling of energy happened again. The one had changed to Unlock inside the bracket.

  Deciding to unlock whatever this was, he tapped the red heart with rippling energy in an attempt to confirm his choice. The one beside the heart disappeared, and the circular, cryptic symbols changed into a solid, readable word.

  RAGE 1 (5)

  What the hell did I do? What happened? Orston had no answer, but fortunately or unfortunately, his eyes started getting heavy, and everything blacked out so quickly he was half sure it was all a weird dream. And he probably won't remember anything when he wakes up.

  Orston came to his senses again, his real senses, not the creepy dream ones. It barely felt like seconds, but his body was well rested. That was the only good thing about his body, though; he felt pangs of pain originating from multiple places. The worst of which was the back of his abdomen, where the pedo-creep had injured him with a knife.

  Ignoring his pain, Orston observed his surroundings. He was wrapped in fur, bandaged, and in a room with stone walls. The window was open, but the room was at some height; from his view, he could only see a bit of stone wall, blue sky, and distant green land.

  He felt weak. And decided to remain lying down instead of sating his curiosity by peering down the window.

  A castle, most likely, Orston figured. Someone must have arrived near the Wolfswood before he bled out. One of the groups of patrolling guards, probably. He was either in Torrhen's square, Cerwyn, or Winterfell.

  Soon, the answer revealed itself. A serving girl holding a wooden bucket and wet towels walked into the room while humming. When their eyes met, she made a weird noise in surprise. Then composed herself, smiled a little, and left the room.

  She returned after a few minutes with a small man in grey robes who stepped inside, the chain at his neck giving a faint clink. Thin grey hair, lined face, sharp but calm eyes. He didn’t look dangerous—just watchful. The man walked over to the bed and looked at Orston, touching his forehead.

  "How are you feeling?" The maester asked.

  "Alive," he replied.

  The maester smiled, "That you are. Probably hungry as well, you slept for five days."

  Orston's eyes widened. He almost panicked, but instead moved his hands around his clothes and frantically searched his surroundings.

  "What you are looking for is with Lord Stark." The maester said in a calm tone, observing his expressions.

  Lord Stark. So he was in Winterfell. And they took his things. Eddard knows about his ring! He didn't plan on revealing it so soon. Things are getting out of his hands. That damned pedo had ruined his plan!

  "He will visit you soon. What is your name?" Maester Luwin asked, taking a seat. His arms huddled inside the robe.

  What will come of this? Will he tell Robert? If words get to Cersie.. well, he shouldn't lose focus. There was still time. He had options.

  The wind coming from the window was cold. Orston had slept in nights much colder, though, on his journey, and barely noticed it now. The room was much warmer than he was used to. He heard the old man but didn't know where to start. Orston decided to use the half-truth.

  "Orston," He replied.

  "Might name." The older man smiled, trying to put him at ease. Tall as he was, Orston was still a kid. "Can you tell me what happened?" Maester added.